


Such Stuff As Dreams

by Maiden_of_Asgard



Category: Loki - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Canon Timeline, Developing Friendships, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreamsharing, F/M, Pre-Avengers (2012), Time Skips, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 18:44:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17606867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiden_of_Asgard/pseuds/Maiden_of_Asgard
Summary: You've dreamt of him since you were a child - Loki, the boy who claims that he is a prince.





	Such Stuff As Dreams

The first dream that you have of the dark-haired boy occurs when you are seven years old. You wake up, startled, after falling out from somewhere very high off the ground and into a prickly bush. The boy is there, and he just stares at you, like there’s something _wrong_ with you. You burst into tears, and the next thing you know, you’re awake in your bedroom.

You tell your family about your dream - or nightmare, really - but you’re reassured that it’s only a nightmare. Falling is common in dreams, you’re told, and dreams can’t hurt you.

After all, dreams aren’t real.

 

~*~*~*~

 

The next time you see him, you’re in a shiny, pretty room, filled with sunlight. The boy is on his back on a couch by the window, a book on his chest. It seems like he’s asleep, at first, but as you take a hesitant step forward, he stirs, then jolts upright. “Who are _you?”_ he demands. “You look strange.”

You scowl. _“You_ look strange,” you reply, kicking your feet against the thick carpet on the floor. And you aren’t lying - you’ve never seen anyone dressed like him before, except maybe in a movie. That’s mean, though - you aren’t supposed to say mean things. “What’s your name?”

The boy looks offended, and he hops off of the couch and comes over to stand in front of you; he’s only a little bit taller than you, but there’s something about his eyes that makes you feel a little anxious. “You do not know my face? I am Loki.”

“Oh.”

His brow furrows. _“Prince_ of Asgard,” he adds, standing up a little straighter. “Son of Odin.”

“You’re a prince?” you ask, curiosity immediately piqued. You’ve only seen princes in books and movies, and you wonder if he’s telling the truth, or only pretending. “Where’s your crown?”

“I do not wear a crown.” Cocking his head, he leans closer, eyes narrowing. “Very strange,” he muses. “You are not dressed for the palace.”

You glance down at your pajamas, which you happen to like _very much._ “I _saw_ you,” you tell him. “I think I remember you. There was a garden…”

His eyes widen, and he takes a step back. _“You._ But… how have you hidden?”

“What?”

Frustrated, he crosses his arms and huffs. “Where _were_ you all these decades, if you are real?”

_What does he mean?_ “Of course I’m real. Are _you_ real?” The room you’re in is big, but you realize that the walls are blurry, and you rub your eyes. “I don’t like this. I want to go home.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but then a strange look crosses his features, and the next thing you know, you’re staring at the ceiling of your bedroom.

_Loki,_ you think. _That’s a weird name._

And then you fall back asleep, and by the time the sun rises, you’ve already forgotten it.

 

~*~*~*~

 

You usually don’t remember much of the dreams, once you’ve started your day. Sometimes you’ll suddenly have the weird sensation of hearing his laugh while you’re sitting in class, or you’ll close your eyes at lunchtime and daydream about a golden, shining room that you’re pretty sure you’ve never seen in real life. When you were younger, you used to ask the grown-ups in your life why you dreamed about a prince - but they always laughed and told you that you had a wonderful imagination.

Eventually, you stopped mentioning Loki at all. He’s almost like your special secret, now, and you look for him every day at the park, the playground, the grocery store… maybe he’s real. Maybe he exists. Maybe he’d be your best friend, if you could somehow find him. Maybe it’s like one of the books you read, about princes and magic and adventure.

But you never find Loki in the waking world, and as the years pass, your dreams grow stranger and stranger. Sometimes, you’re in the woods, and he’s chasing you, but you aren’t afraid. Sometimes, you’re sitting in the middle of your classroom, but there’s no one there but you and Loki, and he’s drawing a tree on the board. The dreams are never exactly the same, and you never remember much of what he says, but you know that you’d recognize his voice, if you ever heard it.

 

~*~*~*~

 

His voice is changing.

You’ve been tired, busy with school and homework and after-school practices, and your sleep has been sound and nearly-undisturbed for months. It’s been a long time since you’ve dreamed of Loki, and when you sit up one night to find yourself sitting on the edge of a very steep cliff, you scramble back in a panic before you realize that the stars are slightly fuzzy. _Just a dream,_ you reassure yourself. _Just a dream._

The new depth to his voice, when he suddenly appears behind you, is unexpected, and you jump again, twisting around. “You scared me!”

“I apologize,” he says, settling cross-legged on the ground beside you, craning his head back to look at the stars. His legs are getting longer, too - he’s taller than you by a good bit, now, and it’s evident even though he’s sitting down. “Where were you?”

Shrugging, you pluck a strand of grass and roll it between your fingers. “Where I always am, I guess.”

“It’s been—” Loki catches himself, taking a deep breath. “You look... _different,”_ he says, “but I knew it was you. I always know.”

“Oh.” You feel an odd heat bleed into your cheeks. “You look different, too.”

“I do?”

“But in a good way,” you quickly add, tossing the crushed blade of grass over the cliff. Your fear of heights never seems to be quite as bad in your dreams, at least when he’s around. “More grown-up.”

There’s a long pause. “You are from Midgard, aren’t you?” Loki finally asks, and there’s something odd in his voice, something you can’t quite place.

You turn to meet his gaze. You _know_ you’d remember those eyes, if you’d ever met him in real life. “What’s that?”

He shakes his head and sighs. “Never mind.” He scoots a little closer to you, his knee brushing against yours, and your heart beats a little faster. “I’m not certain how I’ve managed to dream you up.”

“Me either.”

“But I am glad that I did.”

“Me, too.”

The two of you sit there and watch the stars until you wake up, and there’s an odd sort of fluttering in your chest that you’ve never felt before. You’re in a terrible mood for the rest of the week.

 

~*~*~*~

 

The last thing you remember is crawling under your blanket at the sleepover, and now you’re back in the garden with the pretty rose bushes, sitting on a stone bench as he walks towards you. Loki is… You blush. Well, Loki is _taller,_ now, for one thing, his chest more broad. His dark hair is a bit longer, too, slightly feathering past his ears.

The smile drops from his face when he gets close, and he fixes his gaze somewhere behind your head, clearing his throat. “You continue to dress _strangely,”_ he says, and there’s a huskiness to his voice you’ve never noticed before.

In the past, you probably would’ve told him off for being rude, but you can’t help but feel a little awkward - you’re only wearing a thin top and _very_ short pants, and the garden is a bit chilly. You cross your arms across your chest, flushing. “Didn’t plan to.”

“You should attempt to change,” he says. “Perhaps this is your dream.”

Frowning in concentration, you close your eyes and focus, but nothing happens. “No,” you reply, looking back up at him. “I think this one’s all yours, Loki.”

His lip twitches slightly, and you can’t tell if he’s happy, or embarrassed. “Very well, then.”

You’re in a gown, long and silken, and you gasp, running your fingers down the fabric. _“Oh,”_ you breathe, suddenly feeling like a little kid again, “a _princess_ gown.”

Laughing, Loki takes a seat beside you. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

You’re sick of these stupid _dreams_ of yours.

You don’t remember much of them, but you fall asleep and wake up every morning with _his_ face on your mind, and you’re trapped in some kind of perpetual state of hormonal frustration. That’s what you tell yourself, at least - it’s definitely just hormones, and _not_ that you’re hung up on some imaginary dream-boy that you’ve had in your mind since you were a kid.

Or maybe that _is_ what’s happening, because you’ve noticed that you don’t seem to have any sort of romantic interest in anyone who doesn’t at least vaguely remind you of _him._ You might try talking to someone about it, but they would probably think that you were crazy, and you’re embarrassed - imaginary friends are kid stuff, right? No one will take you seriously.

The dreams are becoming stranger, too, more… chaotic. _Vivid._ Loki always seems tense and on-edge, but you can never remember why, once you’ve woken up; you’re just left with the lingering sensation of his ever-changing emotions, nearly as potent as your own. Maybe they _are_ your own. They have to be, don’t they? He’s _your_ dream-creation, after all.

You sleep less and less, as time passes busy with life and ashamed of the things that your dreams make you feel. When you do fall asleep, you’re usually so exhausted that you don’t have dreams - or if you do, you don’t remember them.

 

~*~*~*~

 

It’s been years since you managed to sleep through the night, your mind weighed down by exhaustion and stress. The dreams of your childhood slowly fade, and as foolish as it is, you cling to the memory of a face that you _know_ doesn’t even really exist.

 

~*~*~*~

 

When you _do_ dream of Loki, these days, it’s only nightmares. You’re pretty sure you remember seeing glowing red eyes, and running, and being so, so very _cold._ Maybe your subconscious has just decided to give a face to your hatred of the current freezing weather, you decide.

You never see his face, and his voice is always hoarse and unintelligible. You feel guilty, somehow, for not being there with him.

Wherever he is.

 

~*~*~*~

 

You wake up in the wee hours of the morning already in a bad mood, your face buried in your pillow. _Him._ Again. It’s been… how long now, since you last saw him? Months, probably. This one was particularly bad. The nightmares are back in full force.

When you sit up, yawning and rubbing your eyes, you spot a blurry shadow standing in the corner, and you immediately scream; there’s _no_ logical explanation for someone else to be in your apartment. But then your voice dies, and you clutch your pillow to your chest.

_It’s him._ It isn’t him as you last saw him - his shoulders have broadened, and his hair is long. He’s wearing lots of leather and metal, and a very terrifying-looking horned helmet rests on his head. There’s a certain sharpness to his features that you don’t remember. Was it always there?

_Oh,_ you think, extremely unsettled, _it’s just a dream. I’m still asleep._

“This… You truly exist,” he says, and there’s something almost like anger in his eyes. “You truly exist, and _here you are._ Now.”

You lick your lips, confused. He usually doesn’t seem angry at _you_ in his dreams. “Where else would I be?”

Loki scowls, stalking closer to your bedside. “I do not understand; you are a _mortal,_ unless I am mistaken?”

“I… yes. A human, that is.”

“Then how could it be possible for you to appear in my dreams when I was a boy, when you’ve only lived…” He cocks his head, considering. “What, a quarter of a century, at most?”

Somehow, the entire situation is so bizarre that your survival instinct seems to have entirely fizzled out. “You tell me,” you say, gesturing towards his _ridiculous_ outfit that clearly doesn’t belong in your tiny, cozy studio apartment. “You’re the one appearing in people’s bedrooms in the middle of the night.”

“You should not _exist,”_ Loki snaps. “You should not exist, and you should _not_ be on Midgard, not now, not when—” He makes a strangled sort of groan, then crouches by your bed, his helmet disappearing in a flash of golden light. When he clasps your hand in his, his skin is cold to the touch, but heat speeds through you, all the same.

_Definitely a dream,_ you think. _That’s probably why his eyes are different, too._ You could’ve sworn that they weren’t quite so _blue._

But then he surges forward and kisses you, and you’re suddenly struck with the terrifying thought that maybe this _isn’t_ a dream, because no matter how many times you’ve daydreamed and fantasized about Loki, it never felt like _this._ He bites your lip, and you gasp - _pain._ Dreams aren’t supposed to be painful, are they?

_“Why_ did you have to be here?” he says. “Was it always meant to be this way?”

You pull away from him, your skin buzzing, your breath shallow. “What does that mean? I don’t—”

He silences you with another kiss, pressing you back down against your pillows as he crowds over you, his long fingers running through your hair. _Oh, God,_ you think. _If this is a dream, it’s a pretty great one, strangeness aside._ You twine your arms around his neck, curving against him, wishing that he wasn’t so _cold…_

Loki grunts and pulls away, leaving you confused and panting beneath him. “Stay here,” he orders, his voice rough. “Stay here, and you will be safe.”

Now the rapid beating of your heart is more fear than anticipation. “What?”

“This _building,”_ Loki snaps, a slightly wary, jumpy look in his eyes as he seems to search the darkness of your apartment. “Whatever happens in the coming days, you must stay in this building, in your home, and you will be _safe._ Do you understand?”

His eyes are a little wild, and you reach for his hand. “Loki—”

“This is _not_ a dream.” Standing, he brushes his fingers against your cheek one last time, then turns away. “It is a nightmare.” Wide-eyed, you watch as his fist clenches at his side, his entire frame radiating tension. “I will come for you when it is over,” he says. “Until then, you must not leave. Tell me that you understand.”

“I… I understand,” you lie. Nothing could be farther from the truth; you have absolutely no idea what is happening, but it seems like you have no choice but to play along.

“Good.” Loki’s shoulders sag, and he turns to glance at you. “I _will_ be back,” he says. “Wait for me.”

“I will.” You always have, haven’t you? He’s always _been_ there, in your dreams, in your imaginings, and you’ve always been waiting for him, wishing that he might be _real…_ ”I will.”

He nods once.

Then, he’s gone.

You wait to wake up, but nothing happens.

Shaking slightly, you rise from bed and go to splash water on your face, thinking that maybe it will snap you out of it. Nothing happens, and so you try a full shower. You go to the kitchen to get a glass of water and drain it, then make a few slices of toast. You’ve never had a Loki-dream last this long without Loki actually _in_ it. You’ve never had a Loki-dream end up being this _mundane._

Dread building by the moment, you sit down on your couch and turn on your TV. Maybe you just don’t remember waking up. That _has_ to be it. You were still a little asleep when you got up, and your dream just blended with the waking world.

But then you flip to the news, and your blood runs cold.

There’s an army attacking New York, they say - an _alien_ army. _State of emergency. International crisis declared._ You feel dizzy.

And there, captured in a grainy security photo in the bottom corner of the screen, is a face that you would recognize _anywhere_ \- even outside of your dreams.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this [Tumblr prompt](http://maiden-of-asgard.tumblr.com/post/182435165181)! <3


End file.
